Government Dairy
by Lizard Pie
Summary: Quebec has heard about the American rum running in Windsor and, if he can manage to get a straight answer out of Ontario, he might just get to know it better.


Windsor was deep south, but had the luxury of being in just the right place not to be bothered by lake effect. Still, it was Canada, to think that winters would be easy was delusional. Quebec, who reached farther north than Ontario had managed, dealt with much worse. Still, his own foolishness made him cold, now. The clothing he'd chosen was pitifully thin, and did nothing to keep out the wind.

Quebec took a glance up and down the empty street to make sure it was still that way before he removed a flask from his pocket. He took a quick swig, for the heat it gave him, and just as rapidly returned it to the hiding place. He was sure he hadn't been spotted, but he knew better.

"That's very risky," Ontario said, as he stepped out from wherever he'd been hiding himself and went up beside his brother. "If the police had caught you…."

"How long have you been stalking me?" he asked. Quebec fought the urge to take another drink just to spite Ontario. He resisted because, knowing his brother, it was likely enough that he hadn't been hiding alone.

"You act like this isn't my territory," Ontario said, "Or that you're inconspicuous."

Quebec scoffed, but couldn't say he was wrong. "A bird told me that the Americans are driving across the river, lately."

"Smart bird," Ontario replied.

"Quite. It sounded like just the sort of spectacle I could use right now." He paused to pull a cigarette from its case. He held it between his teeth as he searched for his lighter, never once with a pause to offer Ontario one. "When do they show up?" He noted, but ignored, the look of jealousy as he lit up.

"These aren't trained dogs," Ontario said, incredulously. "They don't just show up when I tell them. These are…"

Quebec paused, his expression stuck somewhere between amusement and concern. "Are you telling me the rumors of you using cheap liquor to lure dangerous criminals into Canada are true?"

"Businessmen," Ontario insisted. "The men I deal with are businessmen." The tone he chose was firm and confident, but somehow quite obviously rehearsed a few million times. To Canada, to his bosses, and to himself in the mirror each morning.

"As far as you know, or as far as you want to know?" Quebec asked.

"I don't like to pry if the money is right," Ontario said. "Keeping your mouth shut keeps people working."

"Dad knows?"

"He likes people working just as much as I do." Ontario looked at the city around him and mentally changed everything he felt he needed to. "Things aren't getting any better, and shutting down factories like this…"

Quebec dismissed the sort of speech he'd heard millions of times with a thick exhale of smoke and steamed breath. "Just don't let it spill into my house."

He paused when they reached the harbor. The slate-colored sky hung wearily over the still, cinerous river. On the other bank, the glow of Detroit at night had begun to take effect and the dark buildings became bathed in an almost-sickly orange haze.

"When do they come?" Quebec asked. "It's getting too dark to manage…"

"Do I need to repeat the part about 'they aren't my dogs'?" Ontario asked with annoyance. "They don't make appointments, they just show up."

"Sounds like bad business practices, if these are…"

"Shut up," Ontario said. He watched the river with little concern for the motion on the other side. "Anyway, there's this great club I found. If you get bored looking at…"

"Does Dad know about that one?" Quebec asked. His eyes were fixed on the other side, in what he wouldn't allow to bloom into excitement.

"Do you want to go or not?"

"I suppose I'm not doing anything," he replied. "That's them?"

"Yeah, that's them."

Hardtops zipped across the ice, the snowdrifts spewed in clouds behind them. Nobody after them, nobody to meet them. Based on the rumors which had spread outside of Windsor, his police forces had the habit of calling out sick lately.

When they reached the Canadian bank, and America stepped out of his Lincoln, there was nothing to stop him, even if Ontario felt the urge to try. With how eagerly he took the money slipped to him in a handshake, there wasn't much chance of that.

"How much longer until that bridge is finished?" America asked, with a wide smile that leaked into his voice. "It's so slow shipping now."

"A few weeks," Ontario told him, "We just need to run a few last tests. Everything should be much easier…"

"What about the authorities?" Quebec asked.

America stopped smiling, and looked over Quebec critically. "Trying to tell me something?"

"It's alright, he's not with the police," Ontario said, quickly. "He just likes pub stories about the Prohibition Navy."

America smirked. "He shouldn't, I've already figured out a way to get around them. I have a source in North Carolina who's going to hook me up with some planes…"

"Is that source North Carolina?"

America's brow pulled down, but he finally reached into his pocket. "You know, you always did talk too much."

The Provinces tensed. With the police gone and the loading men making a racket, there was little to do if he pulled a surely-silenced gun. They weren't quite prepared when he instead brought out money and tucked it into Quebec's breast pocket.

"Talking costs money at best," America told him. "Remember that, kay?" He walked off to check on the progress of his men, obviously either done or close to it as they'd become more interested in preparing the cars.

The threat was thinly veiled, to be sure, and said with the same broad grin he used for everything. America waved as he got back into his Lincoln, and his men and he headed back for Detroit. It was only when they were a safe distance away that Quebec checked how much he'd received.

Ontario glanced over his shoulder. "That's like a month's wage for you, right?"

"Three weeks," Quebec corrected. He tucked the money back into his pocket as quickly as he could. "This isn't going to spill over, you promise?"

"Probably not," he shrugged. "I don't like to make a lot of problems when I'm dealing with…"

"Businessmen?"

"That's right."

Quebec sighed, and tucked his hands in his pockets to ward off the continuing cold. "All this is drying me out. You mentioned a club?"

"Yeah, down this way."

They left the harbor, with its drifts of snow that climbed up everything vertical they could find. There was too much talk of work there, and that never made for enjoyable drinking.


End file.
